“That happens when you have nice conditioner.” I was trying to joke, but it was like I could barely get the words out. I wondered if it was okay for me to touch him, too. Would his hair be soft? Would he let me twist and turn it with my fingers? Maybe make little braids in it?
“That kind of reminds me of the other thing I think we should be doing.” How could he speak so calmly when my insides were being jumbled like crazy? “We should get to know each other better. Like, I don’t even know if you’re from California.”
“I am. Born and raised.”
“Okay . . .” He was still playing with my hair, and I was still loving it and wanted to lean into him and purr like a cat. “What about your favorite color?”
“Teal, like my work polo shirts. What about you?”
“Black, like my soul.”
I laughed at that and then said, “My turn. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Pass.” He shook his head. “Too many for too many different reasons. Same with books. I do have a soft spot for Fight Club, though. Favorite vacation? You already know mine. It was the only one I’ve ever taken.”
“My mom used to take me up to Big Bear and we’d spend a couple of nights there. We couldn’t really afford to go anywhere else.” I was suddenly realizing the gift I’d been given. I could ask Noah Douglas anything I wanted and I knew he’d answer. He was notoriously tight lipped in his interviews and would often just refuse to answer certain questions that he deemed too personal. And I could find out all of his favorite things while he was playing with my hair.
Talk about a win-win.
“Favorite sport?” I asked.
“Football.”
“Favorite team?”
“The Portland Jacks.”
I didn’t care all that much about sports. I’d only asked because for some guys this was the most important question ever, but since Noah wasn’t waxing on about his eternal love for his team, I figured I was okay to shift questions. “Favorite ice cream?”
“Vanilla, I guess. I don’t really eat a lot of ice cream.”
“Don’t . . . eat . . . ,” I sputtered. “I don’t even know what to say to that. I feel like my people have been dishonored or something.”
He laughed at that and it looked like he was going to ask me a question, so I rushed in first. “Favorite candy bar?”
“Snickers.”
I smacked him on the leg. “You can’t choose that. It’s my favorite.”
“Just one more thing we have in common.” His words had a weight to them that I didn’t want to examine. Just friends. That was it. We didn’t need to overcomplicate things.
To stop where he was headed, I asked, “So who is your favorite director?”
“There’s too many with different forms of artistic expression that it would be impossible for me to pick. Do you have a favorite director?”
I nodded. “I never used to before, but I do now, since I binged that trilogy of yours. Rian Johnson. That dude’s amazing. So talented.” That he’d directed the second and vastly superior movie in the trilogy was the main reason I’d chosen him. I had really liked Knives Out, too. “So if you won’t pick a favorite director, what about a favorite costar?”
“Easy. Lily Ramsey.”
“Good choice,” I told him. She’d seemed so nice. “What do you think is the best feeling in the world?”
He looked at his fingers, still running through my hair, and hesitated. His eyes met mine, and then he was the one to quickly look away. “I feel like I should say something trite, like climbing into a newly made bed. But I don’t make my bed.”
“Me neither,” I confessed. It drove Shelby crazy. Which was why I kept my bedroom door shut.
“So I’d say it’s probably sitting with Magnus while reading a book.”
Aw. “That’s nice.”
“But I imagine that the best feeling in the world would be getting to be with the person you love most.”
“That’s mine, too.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Mostly because I’d never let myself dare to dream that it was possible that I could ever be in a relationship. But I wanted to be. That was why I was doing all this. So that I could get to that point. But it embarrassed me to admit it.
“You like snuggling with Magnus, too?” he teased, letting me off the hook.
“I do. He’s such a good boy.”
Magnus thumped his tail against the floor, pleased at being included.
Before Noah could maneuver the conversation back to something I wasn’t ready to talk about, I asked, “What’s up with the socks?” Tonight he was sporting penguins on his feet.
“Too many people in this industry get caught up in their own self-importance and believe their own hype. They’re a reminder to not take myself too seriously. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re hogging this conversation. I want to know about you, too.”
“Like what? You already know my secrets.”
Not all of them, that pesky internal voice reminded me, and I shut it out.
“Um, did you make any New Year’s resolutions?”
“No. As far as I can tell, January is just the month where everybody lies to themselves about getting in shape, and I refuse to become victim to the gym- and weight loss–industrial complex. If I ever do make a resolution, it’s to eat more chocolate, and I usually meet that just fine.”
At that he laughed and then said, “You’re delightful, do you know that?”
“Did you just call me delightful? I’m not your four-year-old granddaughter.”
“Sorry not sorry,” he said while shrugging. “It’s how you make me feel. You delight me.”
“In that case, you may delight me just a little bit, too.”
“Just a little bit?” he teased, moving in closer to me. I wondered if he realized that he was doing it.
“A teeny bit.” Not wanting things to get too flirty, I thought of a question to shift the mood. “So what is your biggest regret?”
I fully expected him to talk about the army again, or some part he’d passed on, so it surprised me when he said, “Never having a birthday party.”
“You’ve never had a birthday party?” That was so immensely sad to me. I’d been pretty poor growing up, but even I’d had birthday parties.
“No friends,” he said. “I was a working actor from the time I was six years old. And I always had to work on my birthday.”
My plan had backfired. That feeling was back, the one that made me want to kiss him. Not just because I was attracted to him—because believe me, I completely was—but because there was a connection there and the only way to express how I felt was to kiss him.
I gulped, knowing what would come next, my heart already racing and my stomach churning, but it was worth it. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”
The smile spread slowly across his face, and I felt the warmth of it all the way down to my toes. “You never have to ask me. The answer is always going to be yes.”
The way his voice sounded, the low, urgent tone to it, had me catching my breath. In a good way. I asked, “Does that mean I’m allowed to touch you, too?”